


At Your Service

by elle1991



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Acting, Avengers Family, Awesome Clint Barton, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Awesome Phil Coulson, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton-centric, Coming In Pants, Confused Steve Rogers, Cosplay, Crack, Dare, Dress Up, Embarrassment, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fanboy Phil Coulson, Fantasizing, Fantasy Fulfillment, Funny, Gen, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Master/Slave, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nick Fury is a Good Bro, Obedience, POV Clint Barton, Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Phil Coulson's Trading Card Collection, Roleplay, Roleplaying Character, SHIELD, SHIELD Family, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Sexual Roleplay, Shipping, Silly, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991/pseuds/elle1991
Summary: Clint and Natasha lose a bet. For the next 24 hours, they have to dress up in matching outfits and do everything Phil Coulson says...Or: The one where Phil gets Clint and Natasha to dress up and act out some of his many, many Captain America fanboy fantasies.





	At Your Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfsdrache](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsdrache/gifts).



> Based on the prompt: Clint and Natasha lose a bet. For the next 24 hours, they have to dress up in matching outfits and do everything Phil Coulson says...
> 
> This story takes place in an alternative (happier) timeline after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Bucky has been rescued and un-brainwashed, SHIELD has been purged of HYDRA and has not been disbanded, and Phil Coulson and Nick Fury are both working at SHIELD.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff hummed to themselves as they wrote up their respective mission reports. They were sat at the open-plan office for Level 7 operatives at SHIELD's North-West base, seemingly intent on their work.

The only sounds in the office were the clacking of computer keys, the sounds of Nick Fury bustling around fetching files from various bookshelves and the melody of Celine Dion's  _My Heart Will Go On_ , which Clint and Natasha were taking in turns quietly humming, passing the melody seamlessly between them.

Clint looked up briefly as Nick walked past, his arms laden with files, and gave him a quick smile. Nick was their new boss and, despite his unsociable reputation, Clint found him to be pleasant, if in a no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point kind of way.

One week previously, they had been transferred from Phil Coulson's team, the reason being that Clint and Natasha had both wanted to specialise in espionage, which was more Nick's area than Phil's. Nonetheless, Clint and Natasha retained a good relationship with Phil – they were going to hang out with him that evening after work, in fact, to celebrate the end of their first week in their new division and ring in the weekend.

Natasha finished humming the chorus of  _My Heart Will Go On_  and Clint immediately picked up the melody, taking it to the next verse. Natasha briefly looked at Clint over the top of her computer screen, their eyes meeting for a second before they went back to apparently working.

The word  _apparently_ is used because, despite outward appearances, neither Clint or Natasha were actually concentrating on their mission reports at all. They were, at that very moment, in the middle of carrying out another, much more secret mission.

As Nick bustled past once more towards another bookshelf, their sharp eyes followed him, always keeping him in sight, never letting their guard down with regards to his location. They did all this surreptitiously, furtively, so that he would not realise that he was the target of their laser-focused attention.

Nick ran his finger along the bookshelf, frowning to himself as he searched for a file that apparently was not where it should be. He huffed to himself in annoyance, glaring at the bookshelf as if it had personally affronted him.

"I need to get some files from the basement," said Nick to the room at large, before turning around and stomping out of the office, sending one last glare at the offending bookshelf that had not held the file he was looking for.

As the sound of Nick's footsteps faded down the corridor, Clint flicked his gaze over his computer screen and met Natasha's eyes. They sent one another a meaningful glance and then, together, rose to their feet.

They slipped out of the office after their boss, their rubber-soled shoes making no sound on the floor. At the other end of the corridor, they just caught sight of the back of Nick's trademark leather jacket disappearing into the lift. The lift doors closed, the numbers indicating that it was dropping as Nick went, as he had said, down to the basement.

Clint and Natasha stalked down the corridor as quickly as they could without drawing the attention of their fellow SHIELD operatives. A few people greeted them along the way. They smiled and replied in turn, not allowing the tension of their mission to leak into their voices or mannerisms. Finally, they reached the end of the corridor and, taking a sharp left turn, veered away from the lift and entered the stairwell instead.

Here, they broke into a sprint, taking the stairs three at a time as they chased down the lift. Despite the rapid speed of their descent down the building, however, they kept their steps light and quiet, as sure-footed and dainty as a mountain goat, albeit a mountain goat travelling at great speed down the metaphorical mountain.

It took them just 90 seconds to reach the basement level. After taking a moment to catch their breath and ensure they were not breathing heavily enough to be audible, they cautiously stepped out of the stairwell into the dimly-lit basement corridor. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness, but once they had, it became immediately clear where Nick must be.

Unlike the other floors, the basement level consisted of a single corridor. At the end of this corridor was a heavy metal door, behind which was an enormous library containing physical copies of all but the most classified SHIELD files. It was behind this door that Nick must be.

Clint and Natasha crept down the corridor, their senses sharp and alert. They jogged silently towards the heavy metal door, darting between the dim pools of yellow light afforded by the ancient lighting system.

They reached the door together. Their eyes met. They exchanged a look of calmness and readiness; something borne out of years of knowing one another as friends and trusting one another as mission-partners.

As one, they stepped up to the heavy metal door. Natasha put her hand on the heavy handle and twisted it. To both their relief, the mechanism did not squeak. It turned silently, seconds away from granting them entrance to SHIELD's bureaucratic heart and, more importantly, the man inside.

Clint's mouth was dry. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins, as it did every time he reached the climax of a mission.

"Ready?" whispered Natasha, her hand still wrapped around the handle but not pushing it open.

Clint swallowed back his nerves and nodded. He held up three fingers.

"Three..." he whispered, lowering one finger. "Two... One..."

As Clint's final finger went down, Natasha pushed open the sound-proof door...

Perhaps now might be a good time to provide some context.

If you cast you mind back, then you will remember that, earlier on, Clint and Natasha were quietly humming Celine Dion's  _My Heart Will Go On_. You probably overlooked this as some kind of inconsequential narrative, but in fact, that little oddity was of the utmost importance.

Let us rewind to roughly one week prior. It was a Sunday, the day before Clint and Natasha were due to start working as part of Nick's team, and they were socialising with their good friend and former boss Phil Coulson.

"I've got to tell you guys something," Phil had said, his blue eyes large and serious. "Nick Fury has a secret."

Natasha, Clint remembered, had been nonplussed at this dramatically-delivered statement.

"He's a spy," she had said, shrugging. "Spies have secrets."

Phil had drawn himself up to his full height, his face plastered with a mixture of indignation and extreme smugness. His eyes were shining with excitement as he delivered what was, admittedly, a bombshell.

"But I happen to  _know_ this secret," Phil had said, importantly. "Did you know that Nick's all-time favourite song is Celine Dion's  _My Heart Will Go On_?"

There had been, from Clint and Natasha both, several seconds of stunned, disbelieving silence. Clint had been the one to break it. He had shaken his head, folding his arms as he tried to recall a conversation he had had with Nick years ago, at a Christmas party.

"No way," Clint had said. "Nick told me that his favourite song was  _Shoot To Thrill_  by AC/DC."

Phil had rolled his eyes, as if he had heard that line dozens of times before. Perhaps he had. He waved his hand dismissively.

"Of course that's what he tells everyone," he had said. "But really it's  _My Heart Will Go On_. I swear my life on it."

Phil had looked so earnest, so honest, that Clint had felt himself wavering. It seemed staggering improbable that someone as quintessentially macho as Nick Fury should have a soft spot for Celine Dion's heart-wrenching ballad, but Phil was staring at them with such wide eyes that it was difficult to imagine that he was lying.

"But..." said Clint.

The momentary hesitation had been all Phil needed to latch onto. His face had brightened with a smile, as if a great idea had just come to him. His eyes had flickered between the two of them, a sly smile curving his lips.

"You don't believe me, so let's bet on it," Phil had said. "You guys hum  _My Heart Will Go On_  whenever Nick's around, and I bet, that by the end of the first week, he'll be singing it loud and proud."

Clint and Natasha had exchanged smiles, confident that this was a bet they would easily win. After all, what were the chances that hard-man Nick Fury really did love nothing more than belting out a classic by the decidedly un-macho Celine Dion? Slim to none, surely?

"Fine," Clint had said, at the same time that Natasha had said: "Bet accepted."

Phil had grinned wolfishly, his eyes glittering with delight.

"You've got to follow him everywhere," Phil had insisted. "He's not going to sing it in front of you. He'll do it when he thinks there's no one else around. In the toilet, in a storage cupboard, in the basement – those kinds of places. If you're going to play fair, you've got to keep him within earshot at all times."

Clint and Natasha had nodded. It was only fair – Nick would not, after all, sing in front of them, if there were any truth to Phil's story. Spying on Nick should be no problem. He was a great spy, sure, but so were they. They were competent and experienced. They could trail Nick unnoticed for a week.

Natasha, obviously as confident as Clint in their assured victory, had grinned right back at Phil.

"So, what's the prize for the winner of this bet?" she had asked.

Phil had thought about it for a moment, his head cocked to the side, before he had let out a sudden laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"If I win and Nick sings the song by the end of the week, then you both have to do whatever I say for 24 hours," Phil had said. "If you win and Nick doesn't sing, then  _I_  have to do whatever  _you_ say for 24 hours. Either I’ll be at your service – or you’ll be at mine."

It had been too tempting a bet to turn down. They had all consented to the terms of the bet and shaken hands on it, each of them confident of their victory.

For the last week, Clint and Natasha had been quietly humming  _My Heart Will Go On_  whenever Nick had been nearby. They had stalked him all around the SHIELD compound, only just managing to avoid detection on several occasions.

And now, the heavy metal door of the basement-come-library was swinging open, allowing Clint and Natasha to see – and more importantly, to hear – exactly what Nick was doing.

His back was to them. He was pulling out various files from boxes, the sound of rustling paper masking the sound of the door swinging open. But it was not the only sound in the large, cavernous room.

" _Neeeear! Faaar! WhereeEEVER you arrrre! I belieeeve that the heart does go oooooon!_ "

Nick put down the files in a box at his feet, before straightening up and flinging out his arms so that they were at perfect right angles to his body. At the top of his lungs, he continued his passionate rendition in a warbling falsetto.

" _Oooonce moooore! You OOOopened the doooor! And you're heeeere in my heart and my heart wiiiill go ooooon and OOOON!_ "

Clint and Natasha turned to one another in shock.

Twin expressions of horror slowly dawned on their faces as they both came to the same terrible realisation: they had lost the bet.

 

* * *

 

The drive from the SHIELD base to Phil's flat that evening was a subdued one.

Both Clint and Natasha were still feeling stunned from the revelation that Nick Fury's favourite song really was  _My Heart Will Go On_. It made Clint's world feel slightly off-kilter, as if at any moment someone might turn around and inform him that something else he had always assumed was right was, in fact, totally wrong.

He felt uncomfortable and restless, unable to properly shake off the sense of  _wrongness_ that had permeated his whole being when he had been confronted with Nick singing in such a beautiful, perfect falsetto.

He was so distracted, in fact, that as they pulled into the garage underneath Phil's block of flats, Clint realised he had accidentally slipped a file from work into his bag. He cursed under his breath when he saw the navy-blue binder of the folder poking out of the top of his bag, wondering how much trouble he was going to get into for taking a potentially sensitive document off-site.

He briefly considered turning the car around and driving them all the way back to work so that he could return the file, but then decided against it. The drive was 40 minutes long each way and his stomach was rumbling. Besides, the chances of anyone breaking into Phil's flat and stealing the file were extremely slim, especially when you considered that Clint, Natasha and Phil would all be there to protect it.

Feeling only slightly uneasy, he slung his bag over his back and clambered out of the car, Natasha mirroring his movements. They walked out of the garage to the front of the block of flats, pressing the buzzer next to Phil's flat number. Phil's voice crackled over the small speaker almost immediately.

"Password?" he asked.

Clint smiled as Natasha rolled her eyes. Phil Coulson, king of the geeks, was a huge Harry Potter fan. Just as the Hogwarts' house common rooms required a password to enter, so did Phil's flat.

"Whomping Willow," said Natasha.

"Enter!" said Phil, sounding delighted. Clint could imagine him doing a little jig in celebration.

The door in front of them unlocked with a click and Clint pushed it open, holding it open for Natasha before following her in. They headed straight for the stairs; Phil's flat was only on the third floor, so it was often faster than taking the lift.

Stepping out onto Phil's floor, they bee-lined it to his door. They knew exactly which flat was his; Phil was their friend, so they had been there many times. Natasha knocked on the door (Clint was slightly surprised Phil had not devised a special knock to allow entry) and they waited.

Phil came to the door almost immediately. He ushered them inside with a smile and led them through to the lounge, where three steaming cups of tea sat waiting for them on a low table. Clint sank down onto the sofa with a sigh, grabbing the cup of tea and allowing it to warm up his hands. Natasha sat next to him, curling her legs underneath her. Phil took the squashy armchair that was his favourite.

"How was your first week working with Nick? Do you want to move back to my team yet?" asked Phil, his eyes twinkling.

Clint snorted out a laugh as Natasha gave Phil a deadpan stare.

"We've done a mission and a butt-load of paperwork," said Clint, "Nick seems... competent."

He tried to keep his tone light, all the while wondering how he could steer the conversation away from work, in a way that was not obvious. He desperately hoped that Phil had forgotten about the bet. Now, in the cold hard reality of defeat, he could not imagine what had made him think it was a good idea to accept a bet with such high stakes in the first place.

Fate, it seemed, was not looking down upon Clint and Natasha with kindness.

"So?" said Phil expectantly, looking eagerly from one to the other. "What about the bet? Did Nick sing  _My Heart Will Go On_?"

Clint felt his hopes crash down around him. He physically deflated, letting out a dejected sigh as he said "Yes," at exactly the same moment that Natasha confidently lied: "No."

_Fuck..._

Clint could not believe he had not thought about the possibility of lying. There was no way Phil would ever have found out. After all, he was hardly going to ask Nick for confirmation, and in any case, Nick would deny it until he was blue in the face. The lie that had slipped so easily from Natasha's lips taunted him with its simplicity. If only he had lied... But now, the truth was out there, loud and un-retractable, like a mistimed fart.

There followed a long, awkward silence in which Phil looked supremely confused by their differing answers. Clint sat rigidly in his seat, embarrassment painting his cheeks flaming hot, before finally plucking up the courage to turn his head to the side and face Natasha. He winced. She looked furious.

"So..." said Phil, looking uncertain. "He sang?"

Clint held his breath, not daring to speak lest he say the wrong thing and dig them even deeper into a hole. Natasha sighed, finally accepting defeat.

"Yes," she said begrudgingly. "He sang. Pitch perfect. In the highest falsetto I've ever heard in my life."

Phil punched the air, spilling tea over himself as he shouted in triumph. His face stretched out into a wide grin as he laughed dementedly. He stamped his feet loudly on the floor, earning a muffled yell of annoyance from the resident downstairs.

Clint and Natasha exchanged shocked glances. They had expected Phil to be happy about winning the bet, of course, but Phil was looking almost  _deranged_ with excitement. It was almost surreal. Slowly, Phil began to calm down, his victorious laughter petering out into happy giggles and eventually fading into dreamy sighs.

"Oh God," he said. "Oh God.  _I told you_  he loved that song. Once, when he was drugged up on painkillers after being shot, he sang it for 4 hours straight."

"Wow," said Natasha.

" _4 hours?_ " echoed Clint, sounding horrified. "I listened to it for about 1 minute and I feel scarred for life. How the hell did you cope with listening to him sing for  _4 hours?_ "

Phil shrugged, looking nonchalant.

"Personally, I find it quite soothing," he said. "He's got the voice of an angel."

Clint shuddered. The less he had to think about Nick Fury's angelic voice, the better. Give him AC/DC any day.

"Anyway," said Phil, leaning forwards with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He pointed to a clock on the wall. "It's 8pm. For the next 24 hours, you're my slaves."

Natasha tilted her chin up with a smile, looking quietly confident. She was obviously sure that she would be able to cope with whatever Phil asked of her. In all fairness, she probably could – Clint did not know anyone tougher than Natasha.

Clint himself gave a nervous laugh. He was not nervous about what Phil might ask him to do per se – he trusted that Phil would not put him or Natasha in any danger – but the phrasing of it nevertheless sent a shiver of trepidation down his spine.

"Your slaves?" he said, chuckling anxiously. "It sounds creepy when you put it like that."

Phil nodded absent-mindedly, clearly deep in thought about what he should get them to do first. Clint braced himself for any multitude of embarrassing requests: to streak naked around the block, to prank call Nick Fury, to have to reveal his deepest secret. The wait was, in many ways, the worst part.

Eventually, Phil smiled, visibly coming to a decision.

"I'd like you guys to cook dinner tonight," said Phil. "I know when we're at my apartment I usually cook, but I'm feeling tired tonight."

Clint let out a sigh of relief. Phil's request was a pleasant surprise. He had been expecting something rude or embarrassing, not something as innocent or domestic as cooking. He smiled. He had been over-thinking things, clearly; this was not so bad. Clint actually enjoyed cooking. Back at his house, he usually cooked for himself, Laura and the children.

"Sounds good!" said Clint, getting to his feet.

Natasha rose beside him, looking equally pleasantly surprised.

"Sure," said Natasha.

Phil grinned as he jumped to his feet. He rushed forwards to hug them both, before jogging off in the direction of his bedroom.

"You guys go ahead," he said. "I just need to fetch some things."

He disappeared down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps fading away. Clint frowned. He had no idea what Phil might need to "fetch" from his bedroom so urgently. He raised his eyebrows at Natasha, who shrugged.

"Maybe he's gone to fetch some music," she suggested.

Clint nodded. It seemed like a reasonable explanation. Without further ado, they exited the lounge and made their way to the kitchen. Once there, Clint opened a few of the cupboards, looking to see what they could make with the ingredients available. Curry sauce and rice jumped out at him. Checking the fridge, he found some chicken and began to gather together various ingredients.

"Chicken and vegetable curry with rice sound good?" asked Clint.

Natasha nodded with a smile.

"Sounds great," she said.

At that moment, Phil re-appeared in the kitchen, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed with excitement. He was bouncing on his heels, an almost puppy-ish energy radiating from him. He was holding something bulky to his chest.

"One last thing," he said. "You have to wear these."

He held out what he had been clutching to his chest, shaking them so that they unfolded. In his left hand was a skimpy outfit of red, white and blue. In his right hand, the outfit was coloured black and grey, with a small red star just visible.

Clint and Natasha stared at the outfits in stunned silence, their brains struggling to process what their eyes were seeing. The outfits were short, tight and... sexy. The colours and designs were also disturbingly familiar.

Clint rubbed his eyes and shook his head, making sure that he was not hallucinating or having some kind of stroke. No, the outfits were still there, exactly as they had appeared before. He cleared his suddenly dry throat, his cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Are those... sexy Captain America and Winter Soldier outfits?" he asked, half-afraid to hear the answer.

Phil held up his head defiantly, looking surprisingly dignified considering the blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Yes," he said.

Silence descended upon the group once more. Clint's mind was blank with shock. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, yet at the same time, he did not know if he truly wanted to hear the answers.

"Why do you have these?" asked Natasha eventually.

Phil blushed, if it was possible, even redder than before.

Clint groaned.

"Actually," he said hurriedly, "we don't want to know. Just, are they... clean?"

Phil looked momentarily offended.

"Of course!" he blustered.

That, at least, was a relief.

"OK," said Clint. "So... do we actually have to wear these? Or were you kidding?"

Phil glared defiantly.

"Hey," he said. "You knew the rules. You made the bet. For the next 24 hours, you have to do what I say."

He shook the outfits to reiterate his point. With great reluctance, Clint and Natasha took their outfits. Phil's frown instantly disappeared, to be replaced by an excited smile. He let out a squeak of joy as he ushered them out of the kitchen.

"Now!" he called excitedly. "Go and get changed!"

Clint and Natasha walked down the corridor in a daze. Their eyes met, and Clint saw the horror that he was sure was all over his own face plastered on Natasha's.

"We could just run for it," whispered Clint.

Natasha shook her head, as principled as ever.

"We made the bet," she said quietly. "Let's just do it. It's only 24 hours. Things can't get  _too_ embarrassing in 24 hours..."

With those fateful words ringing in their ears, they parted ways in order to get changed in privacy. Clint locked himself into the bathroom, as Natasha continued down the corridor towards the spare bedroom.

Clint looked down at the outfit in his hand. He had taken the Captain America outfit, as it had been the one Phil had been holding in the hand closest to him. With a feeling of mounting dread, he began to pull off his own clothes, until he was standing in just his boxers.

He picked up the various parts of the outfit, his eyes widening as he saw just how risqué it actually was.

Gingerly, he picked up a pair of tight, navy blue booty shorts and slipped them on, having to tug quite hard to pull them over his rear. He turned towards the bathroom mirror and blushed. The shorts only just managed to cover his ass cheeks. The tightness of them left very little to the imagination and, when he looked down at his crotch, the vague outline of his genitals was visible.

Cursing Phil under his breath, Clint picked up the t-shirt. This too was tight and revealing, but perhaps more embarrassingly, it was more obviously based on the Captain America uniform. The bottom of the t-shirt was striped white and red. The upper portion was a slightly sheer navy blue with a large white star in the middle of the chest. As he pulled it over his head and smoothed it down over his torso, Clint turned to face the mirror.

He stared at himself, embarrassment exploding in his chest. He was dressed up as  _Steve;_ Steve, his friend, who he hadhad lunch with earlier on in the week. Worse than that, he was dressed up as a  _sexy_ version of Steve.  _Fuck_. He wondered if he would be able to look Steve in the face ever again.

Steeling himself, he swallowed down his humiliation and stepped out of the bathroom. He almost walked straight into Natasha, who was standing outside waiting for him. His eyes widened as his gaze swept down her outfit, his embarrassment doubling out of sympathy for her.

She was dressed in a sexy Winter Soldier outfit, all tight black leather and kinky leather straps. Her outfit, too, was skin-tight and revealing. Clint found himself extremely thankful that he viewed Natasha as something akin to a sister, or else he suspected he might have been sporting an impossible-to-hide boner.

"We look  _sexy_ ," spat Natasha, her expression as black as thunder.

"We look like sexy  _Steve and Bucky_ ," said Clint, shuddering.

They hovered in the corridor for a moment, reluctant to return to the kitchen where their master and tormentor was waiting for them to cook dinner. In the end though, their own grumbling stomachs, and a heavy sense of duty, pressed them into action.

They walked back into the kitchen with as much dignity as they could manage. Clint kept his eyes firmly forwards, refusing to look down at his own clothing or Natasha's, as if by ignoring it, it might suddenly stop being true.

Any illusions that they might not be wearing sexy Captain America and Winter Soldier outfits were banished as soon as they entered the kitchen. Phil took one look at them and let out a loud squeal. He swayed momentarily on the spot. Clint lurched forwards instinctively, afraid that Phil might actually swoon.

"I'm OK. I'm OK," said Phil breathlessly, ogling at the star on Clint's chest. "Wow. So... dinner?"

Clint cleared his throat, dragging Natasha behind the relative privacy of the kitchen counter so that they could make a start on dinner. It did not do anything to conceal their top halves, but at least Clint no longer felt that his ass cheeks were hanging out on display.

As they worked on cooking dinner, they slowly fell into their usual light banter, talking about what had happened during the week and various stories they had heard or been involved in.

By the time they were plating up the food and carrying it over to the dining table, Clint had actually forgotten what he was wearing.

It was only when they sat down that Clint noticed that Phil was staring at his and Natasha's outfits with what could only be described as  _heart eyes_. It was not a sexual glance (thank goodness; Clint was very happily married to Laura, thank you very much), but instead just a kind of fanboyish delight.

In a way, that made the situation even more bizarre. Clint knew how to deal with sexual attention. He did not know how to deal with being at the centre of Phil's Captain America obsession.

Clint firmly avoided meeting Phil's adoring gaze, his eyes falling instead on the clock.

It was 9pm.

They still had 23 hours to go.

What the hell had they got themselves into?

 

* * *

 

Thankfully, Clint and Natasha had some respite until 8am the next morning, if only because of the need to sleep.

Phil's flat was quite large for one person, with two guest bedrooms, which was convenient considering how often Clint and Natasha would visit. Clint was currently sleeping in the smaller of these two guest bedrooms, blissfully unaware of the day ahead.

He was abruptly awoken by the sound of his mobile phone buzzing on the bedside table. He jerked awake with a snort and grabbed the phone sleepily. He squinted at the caller ID –  _Work office_ – and tapped "answer", bringing it to his ear.

"Hello?" he said, his voice raspy with morning gravel.

"Barton," said Nick's voice through the speaker. "A file has gone missing and you're the last person in the log who had it. It's the Ontario case. Do you know where it is?"

Clint groaned as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, violently pushing away the memory of the last time he had heard Nick's voice. His gaze fell to his bag, which was sitting in the corner of the guest bedroom. The navy-blue binder of the missing folder poked out of the top.

"Yeah, sorry, I have it," said Clint. "I took it with me last night by accident. Do you need me to bring it back?"

"No, it's fine. I'll send someone around to pick it up," said Nick. "Are you at home?"

Clint shook his head, before remembering he was on the phone.

"No," he said. "I'm at Phil Coulson's apartment."

"OK," said Nick. "Someone'll be coming over to pick it up later today. Bye."

The line beeped once and went dead before Clint could reply. He stared momentarily at the screen, before shrugging. Nick was not being rude; the man was just naturally very blunt.

Clint sat up in bed, yawning and stretching. He wondered if the others were awake yet. He was pretty sure he could hear Natasha moving around in the guest bedroom across the hall. Phil's bedroom was further away, so he could not hear his movements.

That thought had only just crossed his mind when he heard footsteps padding along down the corridor. Several seconds later, there was a knock at his door, followed by Phil's head poking in.

"Morning!" said Phil. "I'm about to make breakfast. I was thinking pancakes?"

Clint's stomach growled loudly. Clint patted it as he smiled across at his friend.

"Pancakes sound great," he said. "I'll come and help."

Phil nodded in appreciation and turned to leave. Clint's hopes rose momentarily, before Phil turned around just at the last moment, as if he had remembered something.

"Don't forget to wear your Captain America outfit!"

The door swung shut as Phil bustled back down the corridor towards the kitchen. Clint's hopes of wearing normal clothes evaporated around him like water in a desert. With renewed embarrassment, he pulled on the outfit. 

Fully dressed, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He stared at himself momentarily, torn between despair at being dressed as a sexy version of fucking  _Steve_ and pride at how pert his ass looked at his age. Perhaps he could get some booty shorts of his own after this, he thought, for Laura's viewing pleasure.

With a sigh, he exited the bedroom and followed the delicious smell of pancakes to the kitchen. Upon entering, he saw that the others were both there already, with Natasha wearing her sexy Winter Soldier costume as she sat at the table.

Phil was plating up the pancakes and carrying them over to the table when Clint entered. Phil looked up and smiled as he placed the pancakes down in front of their respective seats.

"Perfect timing," said Phil. "Choose a topping and dig in."

Clint grabbed the bottle of maple syrup and squirted an obscenely excessive amount onto his pancakes. He could feel Phil staring at him with barely concealed shock, but Clint simply smiled sweetly in response. Fuck it. If Phil was going to make him dress up as a sexy version of Captain America for the rest of the day, then Clint was going to comfort himself by drowning his food in delicious syrupy goodness.

The rest of breakfast was relatively normal. Natasha teased Phil about the fact he cut his banana and strawberries into perfectly measured pieces, they discussed the possible meanings of Natasha's strange dream involving an actual black widow spider, and they gossiped about office drama.

Once they had all finished eating, Phil carried everything to the dishwasher and stowed the various items neatly inside, before returning to sit with them at the kitchen table.

"So, are we going to spend the day playing out your Captain America fanboy fantasies?" joked Clint.

To Clint's horror, Phil did not laugh. Instead, he cocked his head to the side, looking thoughtful. Dread and disbelief exploded in Clint's gut. Oh God, Phil thought he was being serious. What had he  _done?_

"You know, I'd just been thinking of making you wear the outfits while we hung out together, but that's a much better idea!" said Phil excitedly.

Natasha kicked Clint in the shin under the table. Clint facepalmed, shaking his head with horror.

No, no, no – this could  _not_ be happening...

"That's not going too far, is it?" asked Phil.

Clint was about to tell Phil that  _yes_ , this was absolutely going too fucking far, when he caught sight of Phil's large, sad puppy dog eyes, and faltered. What was the harm in letting Phil have his fun, he wondered? The request was not harmful or dangerous. Phil was simply a huge Captain America fan. It was actually kind of sweet.

Natasha seemed to be following a similar train of thought, because she met Clint's eyes and smiled gently.

"It's fine," she said, turning to Phil. "We'll act out your fanboy ideas if you want."

Phil clapped his hands happily, leaping out of his chair and bounding over to their side of the table to pull them into a group hug. Clint snorted as he wrapped his arms around his friends, amused by the surprising turn of events.

"This is going to be so much fun!" said Phil, his eyes shining with delight as he finally released them from the hug. "Let's go somewhere more spacious."

With far too much energy and enthusiasm for a middle-aged man, Phil bounced out of the kitchen and down the corridor. Exchanging bemused looks, Clint and Natasha followed him to the lounge. Phil flung himself down in the middle of the large sofa, looking as hyped as he had at the beginning of the previous month's Harry Potter marathon.

"Oh my God, oh my God," he squealed. "I can't believe this is happening!"

Clint laughed, a little more apprehensively than before. Truth be told, he was not entirely sure what exactly  _was_ happening.

Phil took a few calming breaths, composing himself with obvious difficulty. When he looked back up at Clint and Natasha, the  _heart eyes_  were back.

"Will you act out pre-serum Steve being rescued from a bully by Bucky?" said Phil.

There were several seconds of silence as Clint and Natasha processed Phil's request. Somehow, the reality of their situation was only just now beginning to hit, now that Phil had issued them with an actual fanboy scenario to act out. Clint could feel himself blushing furiously, embarrassed beyond measure that they were about to act out a scene as Steve and Bucky – their real-life friends.

Swallowing down his pride, Clint tried to imagine he was playing with one of his children and threw himself into the game. He jumped into a fighting stance, raising his fists and aiming them feebly at an invisible attacker.

"Stop doing... whatever it is you're doing, you unjust asshole!" he shouted.

He immediately cringed at the over-the-top line, sure that he had just spoiled the enactment. He snuck a glance at Phil, expecting him to look bored, but Phil was watching with a look at overwhelming joy on his face. Buoyed by having such an enthusiastic and apparently acting-blind viewer, Clint continued.

"I'll fight you until my knuckles fall off! For justice! For freedom! For America!"

Phil clapped his hands, squealing incoherently on the sofa. Clint smiled, before pretending to take a punch in the face from his invisible adversary.

"Ow!" he cried.

He fell to the floor, pretending to be kicked in the ribs, his body spasming pathetically with each pretend kick. He lifted his right arm, aiming a weak punch somewhere above him, before pretending to be kicked in the groin, curling in on himself and groaning dramatically.

"I could do this all day..." said Clint, making his voice low and raspy, as if he had been hit in the throat.

"Hey, asshole."

On the sofa, Phil let out a small scream as Natasha stepped into the scene, perfectly in character as Bucky. Her entire stance was different – rougher and more masculine. She glared at the space where Clint had pretended the bully was standing, her eyes narrowing to slits.

"Get away from my friend," she said.

Before Clint could interject with some witty commentary, Natasha charged in and began punching the air what the bully was supposed to be. She was making grunting noises, acting out the sounds for both Bucky and the bully she was supposedly fighting. Clint watched, genuinely impressed by Natasha's acting skills, as she battled her invisible foe.

With an almighty kick, she dispatched the bully on his way.

"And stay away!" she shouted, before turning to Clint and hauling him to his feet. "Come on, buddy, let's fix you up."

Clint got to his feet, smiling as he slung an arm around Natasha's shoulders, letting her take some of his weight as he hobbled on one leg.

"Thanks, Bucky," he said.

They smiled, turning towards Phil and bowing.

Phil jumped to his feet, applauding wildly as he whooped with excitement. Clint grinned, glad to see his friend so happy about something so strange yet so simple.

He relaxed. Once he had got over the initial embarrassment, acting as Steve had not been so bad. He smiled, confident that he would be able to handle whatever other scenarios Phil asked them to perform.

How wrong he was...

 

* * *

 

After a brief intermission, during which time Phil fetched them all drinks and snacks, Phil came up with a second scenario for Clint and Natasha to act out.

"You know when the Nazis captured a load of soldiers from the 107th during World War II, including Bucky?" said Phil, biting off the end of a breadstick. "And then Captain America went in and single-handedly saved them all?"

Clint and Natasha nodded, seeing where the conversation was going.

Phil stuck out his bottom lip pleadingly, doing the puppy dog thing with his eyes that Clint  _really_ needed to build some immunity to ASAP.

"Can you act it out?" begged Phil. "Steve saving the prisoners of war and getting them out of the Nazi base was one of the most iconic early Captain America moments. It's when people realised he was a hero and started taking him seriously."

Clint sighed, a small smile playing at his lips. Now that he had already acted out one scenario, acting out a second did not seem so daunting. At least in this scenario he would get to play a more active role and be the hero rather than the person who needed saving.

"OK, but what about Steve's confrontation with the Red Skull?" asked Natasha. "Should we act out that part as well? Because I don't know the details of that mission. Steve's never really talked about it."

Phil hummed as he gave the question serious consideration. Eventually, he seemed to come to a conclusion.

"Maybe miss out the confrontation with the Red Skull and just focus on Steve saving Bucky from the base," said Phil. "It doesn't have to be canon-compliant."

Clint did not know what cannons had to do with the story, nor how a story could be compliant with a cannon. He did not dare question it though, for fear of what Phil might say. The last time Phil had divulged an important new piece of information, it had led him to hear Nick Fury's angelic falsetto, which was something Clint was fairly sure had left him traumatised for life.

"OK, no Red Skull then," said Clint, before gesturing to Natasha to take her position. "Scene two, take one."

Phil clapped as Natasha crossed over to the other side of the lounge and lay down on the sofa. She threw an arm over her forehead, groaning as if in pain. Clint took a deep breath, trying to put himself into the mindset of a hero (but not  _Steve_ specifically; that was still simply too weird).

As he exhaled, he jumped into action. He leapt over the coffee table, striking a pose in front of Phil as he wielded an invisible shield. Spurred on by Phil's gasp of excitement, he pretended to knock aside several opponents with the shield, grunting as he did so. He glanced over at where Natasha was groaning theatrically on the sofa and called out to her, trying to make his voice as earnest and Steve-like as possible.

"I'm coming for you, Bucky!" he cried. "Hold on!"

Natasha briefly broke character, snorting with amusement at Clint's impression of Steve's New York accent, before her face smoothed back over into her best Bucky visage. Clint did a front roll across the lounge, ending up in front of the sofa where Natasha was sprawled. He mimed stowing his shield on his back, and then thrust out a hand for Natasha to grab onto.

"I've got you, Bucky," he said. "Let's kick Nazi ass and get out of here."

Natasha took Clint's hand and hauled herself up, looking him dead in the eye as she replied in a deadpan tone: "Did you join a gym? You swole, bro."

Clint choked back a laugh, briefly turning his back to Phil so that he would not see how close he was to closing it. When he was more composed, he replied, in as serious a tone as he could manage: "I'll explain everything back at the base. We need to get out of here."

He turned around, to find himself having to duck as a breadstick hurtled unexpectedly towards his face. He stared at Phil in shock, who had a whole handful of breadsticks clutched in his fist.

"The breadsticks are HYDRA!" yelled Phil, pointing at the breadstick now lying on the floor by Clint's feet.

Immediately absorbing this new rule into his mental rulebook for the game, Clint picked up the breadstick and – only feeling slightly foolish – punched it as hard as he could.

"Take that, HYDRA scum!" shouted Clint as the breadstick exploded into several pieces, making a mess on the floor.

Phil briefly looked crestfallen as he stared at the mess, no doubt imagining how difficult it would be to get it out of the carpet. Carefully, he placed the remaining breadsticks back on the table, before pointing to a bit of air to Clint's right.

"HYDRA!" said Phil.

Clint swept his pretend shield off his back and swung it against the invisible HYDRA soldier, making grunting sounds as he did so. He tugged fake-Bucky along behind him, making a show of supporting Natasha's weight as she walked along with a pronounced limp.

"HYDRA!" called Phil again, pointing to a different spot in the lounge.

Clint somersaulted to the new threat, aiming a flurry of punches and kicks at the air. Phil jumped up on the sofa, cheering as Clint and Natasha fought their way around the room. The battle continued for well over 20 minutes. By the time Clint and Natasha finally circled back to Phil, Clint was feeling as sweaty and pumped as if he had been to the gym.

"I'm back, sir," gasped Clint, giving Phil a salute. "Captain Rogers plus the prisoners of war from the 107th and other armies, reporting for duty."

He had no idea if that was actually how people spoke in the Army, but Phil did not seem to either mind or notice any discrepancies. With a happy moan, he jumped down from the sofa and wrapped his arms around Clint and Natasha, pulling them in for a bone-crushing hug.

"Well done, Captain Rogers," said Phil. "Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes."

With his eyes bright with joy and excitement, he pulled back and gazed at them both with unbridled love.

"This," he said earnestly, "is one of the best days of my life."

 

* * *

 

Clint and Natasha were briefly saved from any other immediate acting duties by their rumbling stomachs demanding lunch.

They spent a good couple of hours making and eating lunch and then just hanging out together in the lounge, sipping lemonade and talking about whatever topics caught their fancy.

By this point, Clint had grown completely accustomed to his sexy Captain America outfit, no longing cringing whenever he caught sight of himself in a reflective surface. His booty shorts, which he had been so self-conscious of when he had first put them on, no longer bothered him. If anything, he felt proud to show off his trim body. He was not in bad shape for a man of his age, and he was no longer afraid to flaunt it.

Eventually, though, the period of relative normality came to an inevitable end, and Phil looked up once more with his puppy dog eyes.

"Guys..." he said, drawing out the syllable as he flopped down in his favourite squashy armchair. "You know that before Captain America had the serum, he got real sick, real often?"

Clint and Natasha replied in the affirmative. Clint had seen pictures of pre-serum Steve and the man's poor health had been obvious just from the photographs. Steve's pre-serum life was something Clint kept meaning to ask him about, but he had never got around to it.

"Yeah, what about it?" said Clint.

Phil sighed, a dreamy look coming over his face as he leaned forwards and cupped his face in his hands.

"I bet Bucky looked after Steve when he was ill," Phil said wistfully. "I bet he would stay over at his house and fetch him food and water and medication. I bet he'd keep him company and put a cool cloth on his forehead whenever he had a fever."

Clint and Natasha exchanged confused glances, slightly bewildered by the amount of  _longing_ that was visible on Phil's face. Phil looked like a teenage girl pining over a crush; a disturbing expression to see on the face of a man in his 40s.

"Uh, I guess," said Clint, not quite sure how to respond. "They've been best friends since they were kids. So yeah, it makes sense that Bucky would look after Steve when he got sick."

Phil sighed, his dreamy expression staying disconcertingly in place as his gaze shifted to Clint and Natasha.

"Will you act it out?" said Phil. "Like, pretend Steve's got a really bad fever and Bucky's looking after him?"

Clint stared at Phil for a long moment, before looking over at Natasha, who looked equally perturbed by the suggestion. Clint's gaze shifted towards the clock, which showed that the 8pm cut-off time was still many hours away. Clearing his throat, Clint nodded stoically.

Phil gave a squeal of delight, leaning back in his armchair and gazing at them adoringly. Clint and Natasha exchanged uncomfortable glances. Whereas the previous scenes had been more action-focused, this scene sounded as though it was going to be a lot more _intimate_. Clint swallowed back his pride, trying to convince himself that it was not any weirder than pretending to be a unicorn with his daughter Lila.

He crossed over to the sofa and lay down on it, trying to keep his body as floppy and lethargic as possible. He groaned softly, screwing his eyes closed as if he was suffering from a powerful headache. He heard Natasha walk over to him and crouch down so that she was level with him. She reached out a hand and placed it gently on his forehead, measuring his temperature.

"Steve, you're burning up," Natasha said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Clint sighed miserably, his breath tickling at Natasha's wrist.

"My head hurts," he said. "My body aches and I'm thirsty."

Natasha cooed in a gentle, sympathetic way that reminded him strongly of how his own mother had used to look after him whenever he had been ill as a young boy. Natasha briefly stroked his hair away from his forehead in a way that was unexpectedly intimate. He heard the slight squeak of Natasha's kinky leather outfit as she got up, followed by the sound of her walking out of the room. Unsure what was happening, Clint opened his eyes, looking around uncertainty. His eyes fell on Phil, who was watching him, entranced.

"Where...?"

Phil hushed him, smiling.

"Bucky will be back soon, Steve," said Phil. "Try not to move; it'll make your headache worse."

Clint nodded, trying not to be weirded out by the surrealness of the situation. Somehow, just lying on the sofa whilst "Bucky" pretended to look after him was far more embarrassing and bizarre than jumping around pretending to punch invisible Nazis.

Before he could ponder the strangeness of the situation any further, Natasha re-entered the room, clutching a glass of water and a damp white cloth. Gesturing for him to stay lying down, she balanced the glass of water and the cloth on the arm of the sofa, before turning back around towards Clint.

"I'm going to look after you," she said gently. "You're going to be OK, I promise."

Clint smiled weakly, trying to look appreciative. He supposed this really must have happened before Steve had been injected with the serum, and he felt a pang of sympathy for the man. To be so helpless must be a difficult situation for anybody, but especially so for a man as proud as Steve Rogers.

"I'm going to put your head on my lap so you can drink the water, OK?" said Natasha.

Clint looked up at her, momentarily confused. With a smile, Natasha reached forwards and lifted him gently by the armpits, raising his upper half just high enough that she could slide in behind him and sit down on the sofa. Clint blushed as he was lowered back down, his head now resting on Natasha's lap.

"There we go," she cooed. "Let's get some water into you, Stevie."

Clint caught sight of her smirk and glared up at her indignantly. Natasha was enjoying this far too much. He doubted Steve had ever had to face such treatment. In his armchair, Phil appeared to be silently screaming whilst making heart shapes with his hands.

Clint looked up at Natasha sourly as she grabbed hold of the glass of water and brought it to his lips. She was grinning down at him, no longer even trying to hide her amusement. She tipped the glass enough so that the water brushed against his lips. Clint quickly opened his mouth to swallow the water, no doubt in his mind that Natasha would not hesitate to  _accidentally_  pour it over him if he failed to cooperate.

His cheeks burnt bright red as he swallowed the water, much to Natasha amusement and Phil's now-audible delight. Finally, Natasha pulled the glass of water away from Clint's lips, placing it back on the arm of the sofa.

"Well done, Steve," she said. "That should help with your headache."

Clint forced himself to smile in a way that was absolutely, definitely not petulant.

"Thank you, Bucky," he said.

Natasha smiled indulgently, grabbing hold of the damp cloth and draping it over Clint's forehead. Clint closed his eyes with a sigh. The cool cloth actually felt surprisingly good, regardless of the fact he did not have a headache. He heard Phil coo softly from his armchair.

He blinked his eyes open in surprise when Natasha began to stroke his hair. She was petting his head as if it were a cat, gently and absentmindedly. When she spotted him looking up at her questioningly, she simply smiled gently and gave him a scratch behind the ears.

"Go to sleep, Steve," she said. "You'll feel better after some rest."

Feeling embarrassed beyond measure at the cosiness of the scenario, Clint nodded and closed his eyes. He allowed his breathing to become slower and more even. Ten minutes of slow breathing later, he found his body actually relaxing as he drifted towards the cusp of sleep.

"And then Steve got better and they all lived happily ever after," said Natasha. "The end."

Clint opened his eyes, immediately sitting upright and getting off Natasha's lap. She laughed good-naturedly at his embarrassment and gave him a friendly dig in the ribs. Phil jumped to his feet and applauded loudly, his eyes shining with tears of joy.

"Beautiful!" he cried. "Magnificent!"

A couple of tears rolled down Phil's face, so overwhelmed was he with emotion.

Clint smiled nervously.

For the first time, he was beginning to have doubts about whether he would be able to complete the 24-hour dare.

 

* * *

 

It was getting into the late afternoon when Phil remembered his Captain America trading cards collection. The moment when he had remembered them had actually been quite disturbing. One moment, they had been talking together normally in the lounge; the next, Phil had stopped mid-sentence, gone bright red, and  _sprinted_ from the room in the direction of his bedroom.

Clint and Natasha had been momentarily stunned, half expecting to see a cartoon Phil-shaped cloud where Phil had been sitting. They had got cautiously to their feet, unsure of the situation, and had been debating following him when Phil had returned, the pack of trading cards clutched to his chest.

Presently, as he showed them the cards, he was handling them with the utmost care, as if they were something truly precious.

"It's a vintage set," Phil explained. "Near mint. Slightly foxing around the edges but the pictures themselves are still in perfect condition."

Clint craned his neck, looking down at the picture on the top card. It showed Steve in his 1940s Captain America uniform, grinning as he gave a cheeky salute. Clint grinned. Firstly, it was beyond adorable that Phil owned a vintage set of Captain America trading cards. Secondly, he was  _definitely_ going to tell Steve about this.

"These are cute, Phil," smiled Natasha, looking down at the cards. "You should totally ask Steve to sign one or two."

Phil scoffed, shaking his head.

"I don't want him to think I'm some kind of weird  _fanboy_!" he said.

Clint and Natasha exchanged meaningful looks. Clint looked down at his clothes, taking in the obviously Captain America-inspired, red, white and blue, tight, slightly sheer t-shirt and booty-hugging booty shorts. He was sorely tempted to point out that this entire situation was one weird fanboy fantasy, but he stopped himself, unsure if Phil would see the funny side or actually become upset. The last thing Clint wanted to do was make Phil feel ashamed of his fanboyish ways.

"Did you bring the cards for a specific reason or just to show us?" asked Clint, tactfully side-stepping any mention of the situation being weird or otherwise.

Phil's face lit up with a smile, immediately reaching for the cards once more to flick through the first few and admire them.

"I thought we could play a little game," said Phil enthusiastically. "How about you guys try to recreate the poses that Cap's doing in the cards, and for each pose I'll award one of you a point depending on who did it the best? First person to 10 points wins."

Clint immediately broke out into a grin. He could never resist an element of competition. Natasha, too, seemed up to the challenge. She shot Clint a wicked grin, pointing to him and then the ground.

"You're going down," she said. "I'm going to win this bitch of a contest."

Phil grinned, pleased by their enthusiasm for the game. Without further ado, he began shuffling the cards, being careful not to be too rough with them. Finally satisfied that they were fully shuffled, Phil handed the pack to Clint and went and sat back down in his armchair.

"Both of you take a look at the card," instructed Phil. "Then recreate it. I'll guess which card you were copying, and then award a point to the person who did it best."

Clint and Natasha both nodded confidently, taking a look at the first card. It showed Steve throwing his shield like a frisbee. The art was skilfully done in such a way that it looked as though the shield was going to burst right out of the card and hit the viewer. Steve had a determined expression on his face.

Clint immediately copied the pose, flinging his arm out as if he had just thrown the shield and standing with his legs wide apart. Concentrating on his facial expression, he tried to look as determined as possible without crossing the line into constipated. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Natasha doing the same, imitating the card and giving Phil her own hardened stare.

Phil clapped with delight, looking from one to the other with a huge smile on his face.

"It's card #14 where he's throwing the shield!" Phil guessed correctly. "Hmm... It's a tough one, but I think Clint wins this round."

Clint punched the air victoriously, sticking his tongue out at Natasha who simply glared back in response. He laughed, buoyed with confidence from his successful first round.

"Do the second card," begged Phil.

Clint and Natasha both smiled, turning over the second card in the deck. In this one, Steve was standing with his hands on his hips. His back was straight and proud, his chest thrust forwards slightly – although that could just have been an illusion caused by the size of his pecs. Clint snorted, trying to imagine Steve actually standing like that, as if he were a model in an advert.

Placing his hands on his hips, Clint tried to puff out his chest the best he could, looking over confidently at Phil. Beside him, Natasha was doing the same. Phil hummed thoughtfully, looking between the two of them with a pensive expression on his face. This time, he took much longer to decide, actually getting up and walking around each of them to see their poses from all angles.

"Natasha wins," Phil said finally, settling back into his chair. "And you were doing card #31."

Natasha pirouetted on the spot, basking in her victory. Clint begrudgingly gave her a high five, his inner competitor grumbling at having lost a round. In his armchair, Phil had a blissed-out expression on his face, gesturing for them to pick up another card.

Clint flipped over the next card – and froze.

On the card, Captain America was drawn on all fours, his ass pointing towards the viewer. He was looking seductively over his shoulder, biting his lip in a way that made Clint fear that he would never be able to look at real-life Steve in the face ever again. Most horrifyingly of all, however,  _he was not wearing any underwear or trousers_. Clint stared, dumbstruck, at the detailed drawing of Steve's puckered asshole.

He exchanged a terrified look with Natasha, who was looking equally disturbed by the drawing. They both looked across at Phil who was waiting eagerly for them to assume their pose, blissfully unaware of the card they had just turned over. Clint stood rooted to the spot, in mind raging in inner turmoil. If he acted out the card, it would be excruciatingly humiliating, but if he refused and Natasha went ahead, then Natasha would win the point.

Slowly, both Clint and Natasha dropped down onto all fours. In his armchair, Phil watched, looking confused. In unison, Clint and Natasha scooted around so that their asses were pointing towards Phil, arching their backs and pouting as they looked back at him seductively.

Phil stared at them in horror for several long seconds, apparently frozen to the spot as his face flushed bright red. Shaking himself, he leapt to his feet and snatched up the pack of cards, his eyes widening in shock when he saw the card they had picked. He immediately tried to hide the cards behind his back, which only led to him dropping the entire pack, cards scattering everywhere.

Clint watched, spellbound with a mixture of fascination and horror as his eyeballs were confronted with a mixture of normal and explicitly pornographic Captain America trading cards. Phil desperately tried to scoop up the scattered cards, almost hyper-ventilating in his panic.

"Fuck! Don't look! Oh my God. Oh fuck, I don't know how  _those_ cards got mixed in there..."

Clint burst out laughing, unable to contain his mirth at the ridiculous hilarity of the situation any longer. His stomach hurt and his chest ached with the exertion of it, his laughs coming out in loud, bellowing guffaws. He doubled over, his sides aching as tears slid down his face. Beside him, Natasha flung herself down on the sofa as she too howled with laughter, unable to contain herself.

On the floor, Phil cursed at them with a long stream of swear words, finally managing to collect his cards back together. Without a backwards glance, he clutched them to his chest and ran out of the room, sprinting back to his bedroom to hide the incriminating evidence of his Captain America fetish.

When he returned about a minute later, his face was bright red. He firmly avoided eye contact. He sat back down in his armchair, looking supremely embarrassed that the game had ended the way it had.

"You can't mention this to anyone, ever," said Phil. "Seriously, if anyone hears about it, I think I'll die."

Clint made a concerted effort to stop snickering. His grin, however, could not be so easily banished.

"Don't worry," said Natasha. "I won't judge you for your Captain America kink."

Phil looked up, smiling shyly.

"No judgement from me either," smirked Clint. "But I'm going to use this as blackmail material for the rest of my life."

If looks could kill, the stink eye that Phil shot his way would have left him undeniably dead.

 

* * *

 

Phil was so embarrassed by the accidental reveal of his sexy Captain America trading cards that he refrained from asking them to act out any more scenes for several more hours.

Finally, though, the temptation seemed to become too great to resist once more, because at 7:30pm, Phil once again turned to them with a small, hopeful smile.

"Guys..." he said.

Clint and Natasha looked up from what they were doing (i.e. playing a rude version of hangman) and met Phil's eyes. He seemed to be a mixture of excited and cautious. Clint put down his pencil and gave Phil his full attention.

"What's up, P-dawg?" said Clint.

Phil chewed on his lower lip pensively, looking dreamily out of the window.

"You really don't judge me for my Captain America kink?" he asked.

Clint and Natasha exchanged looks of surprise. Of everything Clint had expected to come out of Phil's mouth, it had not been that.

"Of course not," said Natasha, frowning.

"Yeah man, we think you're awesome," said Clint. "Knowing that you sometimes whack off to sexy Captain America trading cards doesn't change that. I mean, I guess that's kind of weird to think about seeing as we  _know_ Steve, but it's not harming anyone, so who cares?"

Phil blushed, his eyes drifting towards the clock. Clint followed his gaze, noting the time and its significance.

7:30pm

30 minutes left of being Phil's slaves.

"Do you know what shipping is?" said Phil suddenly.

Clint frowned, unsure where the conversation was going.

"Like when you order something off Amazon and they send it to you?" said Clint.

Phil shook his head, smiling.

"No, like when you really like imagining two people or characters getting together," Phil explained. "There's loads of fanfiction and fanart online that ships characters in different fandoms. You want to read sweet romance about Sherlock and Watson? It's there. If you want Castiel fucking Dean in the ass with tentacles? That probably exists too. Shipping and fandom are really diverse."

Clint raised his eyebrows, quite stunned by this revelation. He was not entirely sure what to do with the information. He was now even more confused about where Phil was taking this. His stomach churned uneasily.

"OK..." said Clint. " _And?_ "

Phil took a deep breath, before turning to look Clint and Natasha squarely in the face. He lifted his chin proudly, his blue eyes blazing with excitement.

"I ship Stucky," said Phil. "Steve and Bucky. Getting it on... And I want you to act it out."

The seconds seemed to stretch on and on, horrified silence filling the room until it was overbearing. Clint's mind was struggling to comprehend what Phil had just said. His mouth was hanging open, agog. When he turned to face Natasha, she too looked aghast at Phil's suggestion. Clint opened his mouth, attempting to speak, but found that he could not utter a word. His voice had literally been stunned into silence.

"What?" said Natasha eventually. "I'm not fucking Clint! He's married and I have standards."

Clint attempted to feel offended, but his shell-shocked mind was still not quite back online, so he ended up simply nodding along in agreement.

"She has standards," he echoed. "She's not fucking me."

Phil tutted, as if they were a couple of very slow children failing to grasp some ridiculously simple concept.

"I'm not asking you to  _actually_ have sex," said Phil. "Just to pretend – fully clothed – whilst calling each other  _Steve_ and  _Bucky_."

He looked pointedly at the clock, which was now showing 7:36pm. 24 minutes to go until the end of the dare. Even with Clint's bullshitting skills, he could not stall for 24 minutes. With a feeling of pure horror, Clint realised there simply was no way they could wriggle out of this in the timeframe available to them. It was going to happen. Clint and Natasha were going to act out Steve and Bucky having sex, whilst dressed up in sexy versions of their outfits.

"How would it even work?" Clint said weakly, trying one last ditch attempt to avoid the inevitable. "Like... they're two guys."

Natasha smiled.

"When two men love one another very much, they find a way," she smirked. "It usually involves someone getting a dick in the butt."

Clint blushed profusely. That had not been what he had meant.

"I know that," said Clint. "But... Steve and Bucky. Who would, you know–"

"Who would top and who would bottom?" Phil guessed correctly. "It's something I've thought a lot about. On balance, I think Bucky would top and Steve would bottom. Steve spends so much of his time in charge that I think he'd enjoy letting someone else take charge for once. And I think we can all agree that Bucky would be a good top."

Clint and Natasha exchanged shocked glances. Clint was not entirely sure how to react to the revelation that Phil had given "a lot" of thought to who, Steve or Bucky, would top and bottom in the bedroom. He wondered how quickly Tony would be able to invent brain bleach, if asked.

"I think Bucky would top too," said Natasha, before turning to Clint, her expression calm and serious. "Spread your legs."

Clint choked on his own breath. The situation had rapidly escalated from slightly weird to completely surreal. He pondered the possibility that he was suffering some kind of psychotic break from reality. It was possible, he decided. Listening to Nick Fury's angelic rendition of  _My Heart Will Go On_  was definitely trauma material.

Feeling slightly as though he was in a dream, Clint lay down on the floor, spreading his legs wide. Natasha dropped to her knees, shuffling along until she was positioned between Clint's thighs, and smiled down at him. Clint stared up at her, his eyes wide and dazed as she winked at him.

"It's OK, Steve," said Natasha. "I'll be gentle."

Without any further preamble, she grabbed hold of his thighs and began to thrust her hips back and forth. Clint immediately felt a giggle begin to build up inside of him. The image of Natasha thrusting between his legs, dressed in a sexy Winter Soldier costume, was simply too much. The urge to laugh was growing stronger by the second, his stomach clenching and his face reddening with the effort of holding it in.

Phil seemed to take this physical reaction as something altogether different, however.

"Oh fuck. That's it, Steve, enjoy it," gasped Phil.

The last line was simply too much for Clint's shredded psyche to bear. Without meaning to, he let out a loud laugh, which he quickly masked as a long, drawn out moan. He continued releasing his explosive giggles disguised as moans, finding relief as the pressure inside himself lessened slightly.

"That's it, Stevie," said Natasha, giving Clint's ass a quick spank. "Do you like the way I feel inside you?"

Clint nodded vigorously, surprisingly finding himself getting into the roleplay. Now that he was no longer trying to fight it, he could see the situation for what it was: a ridiculous, hilarious mess. Gleefully letting go of his inhibitions, Clint flung himself fully into a scene, moaning and gasping like a porn star.

"Yes, Bucky!" he said. "Go harder! Fuck, I love your huge cock inside me."

On the sofa, Phil was practically swooning, unable to believe his luck as his pseudo-OTP engaged in hardcore pseudo-fucking before his very eyes. Natasha too was getting into it, growling and moaning as she continued to thrust vigorously between Clint's legs. Clint threw his head back, letting out a long litany of moans, "fuck"s and "harder"s.

They were all so absorbed in the scene, all enjoying themselves so much, that they did not hear the knock on the door.

They did not hear the door opening, nor did they hear the sound of footsteps walking along the hallway to the entrance of the lounge.

Steve Rogers walked into the room, looking down at his phone.

"Hey, Nick sent me. A nice old lady downstairs let me in. I'm here to collect the file that Clint took off-site yesterday."

They all froze. Clint stared in horror as Steve looked up from his phone, his eyes falling on the scene in front of him for the first time. Mortification exploded in his chest as he watched Steve's wide eyes flick from Clint (fuck, he was wearing a  _sexy Captain America_  outfit) to Natasha (only marginally better dressed as a sexy version of  _Steve's best friend_ ) to Phil, who looked as though someone had just stabbed him in the heart (again).

Steve's face morphed from confusion to shock in less than a second, his mobile phone falling from his hand onto the soft lounge floor. Clint watched the phone fall as if in slow motion, in such a state of shock that he almost felt as though he were having some kind of out-of-body experience.

"What's... happening?" Steve asked faintly.

Clint desperately tried to think of something, anything, that could justify what was going on. He could think of nothing. His mind had gone completely blank, his cognitive abilities utterly destroyed under the intense embarrassment, horror and hysteria that only comes from having your friend walk in on you whilst dressed up in a kinky outfit of said friend, whilst lying on your back and pretending to get fucked in the ass.

Natasha, it seemed, had a stronger constitution. She calmly stood up from between Clint's splayed legs, looking Steve dead in the eye as she attempted to save the last remnants of hers and Clint's dignity – by throwing Phil under the proverbial bus.

"This is all Phil's idea," she said.

All eyes immediately turned to Phil, who went from sickly beige to tomato red in less than a second.

"Phil?" Steve asked tentatively.

Phil cleared his throat, standing up and drawing himself up to full height. He was obviously attempting to look authoritative and professional, but in reality, he simply looked terrified.

"This is... training," stammered Phil.

Steve stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Training for  _what?_ " he said.

Phil coughed self-consciously, casting a terrified glance that screamed  _help me_  towards Clint and Natasha.

"I'm testing their acting skills," lied Phil. "To be good spies, they've got to be good actors."

Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his gaze drifting down towards Clint, who was still on the floor, his legs still stretched wide apart. Clint immediately snapped his legs together, scrambling to his feet. He tugged at his booty shorts self-consciously, trying in vain to cover his ass cheeks.

"What about the outfits?" asked Steve.

Phil's eyes darted towards Clint and Natasha in panic, his forehead visibly perspiring.

"I wanted to see how well they could act whilst being faced with something very visually distracting," said Phil.

Clint felt respect blossoming in his chest – along with a hefty share of amazement – that Phil was managing to hold it together under Steve's questioning and form actual coherent replies. Granted, his replies were wildly far-fetched, but they were better than the alternative: the truth.

Steve fell silent. Phil was lying – it was painfully obvious for anyone to see. Steve, though, was not a cruel man. With obvious effort, he smiled and visibly swallowed back his curiosity, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"OK," he said, forcing a smile. "That's unorthodox, but cool."

Phil, Clint and Natasha let out a collective sigh of relief, beyond thankful that Steve was apparently willing to let them off the hook without any further questioning. Clint smiled, trying to look as dignified as possible.

"Thank you for running this training exercise for us, Phil," Natasha said smoothly. "Do you think our acting skills are up to scratch?"

Phil cleared his throat, nodding politely.

"Yes, good job, guys," he said. "You can get changed back into your normal clothes now."

Without hesitation, Clint and Natasha scarpered from the room. They fled towards their guest bedrooms, not daring to speak – they knew that Steve's serum-enhanced hearing was good enough to be able to hear them. Silently, they parted ways and each went into their own guest bedroom, closing the doors behind them.

Clint thunked his head back on the door, unable to believe his luck that Steve had been polite enough not to question them any further. He glanced at the clock, his heart leaping when he saw the time.

8:04pm

He let out a long sigh of relief, all the tension of the last 24 hours bleeding out of him. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had survived his 24 hours of being Phil's slave, with his life – if not his dignity – intact.

Elated to finally be free once more, Clint got changed, taking off the sexy Captain America outfit with a mixture of relish and disappointment. He was going to miss those booty shorts; they made his ass look  _fine_. Once fully dressed, he grabbed his bag and made his way back to the lounge, where the others were all waiting for him.

Clint took the SHIELD file from his bag, passing it to Steve with a smile. He felt slightly less mortified now that he was wearing his normal clothes again, although he doubted he would be able to hang out with Steve without feeling some level of residual embarrassment for quite a while.

"Thanks," said Steve, stowing the file safely in his bag.

There was a moment of awkward silence in which everyone waited to see if anyone else would bring up the elephant in the room. When no one did, Steve smiled and turned to leave. He walked down the little hallway, and had his hand on the front door, when he turned back around with a small smile.

"One last thing," said Steve. "If me and Bucky did ever fuck, I'd be the top."

With a mischievous grin, he gave them all a wink and exited the flat, the front door slamming shut behind him.

They were left in stunned silence, the only sound coming several seconds later as Phil let out a strangled moan – which was very possibly the sound of him jizzing in his pants.

**Author's Note:**

> STORY ART: I created [this art](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/173828702531/at-your-service-by-elle1991clint-and-natasha-lose) to accompany this story, feel free to share it if you want to give it a signal boost <3
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> FEEDBACK: Comments and kudos are more than welcome. Let me know your thoughts :)
> 
> TUMBLR: [I'm on Tumblr!](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/). Feel free to follow/talk to me on there if you're feeling friendly or nosy!
> 
> OTHER STUFF I'VE WRITTEN:
> 
> If you want to get an email whenever I post something new, then click on [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991) and become a user subscriber. Be aware that this is _different_ from the Subscribe button on the top of _this_ page, which is for this story _only_ :) 
> 
> Here's a list of my other stories, if you're interested:
> 
> [Fearless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8346310) (291,275 words) - A Black Widow origin story. Starting when Natasha was three years old and going right up to the present day, this story explores Natasha's life as a Red Room Academy student, KGB agent, SHIELD agent and finally, an Avenger.
> 
> [Steve And Bucky's Kinky Alphabet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776473) (176,544 words) - 26 chapters of explicit porn-with-plot featuring Steve and Bucky. Or: the one where JARVIS goes rogue and kidnaps the Avengers until they can sort their mental health out, and Steve and Bucky fuck a lot and fall in love.
> 
> [Vengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7285612) (51,573 words) - Bucky falls from the train. Steve will do anything to take revenge on those responsible for his death - even if it means joining HYDRA.
> 
> [Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704965) (40,706 words) - Bucky is a man with a big secret: for 70 years, he was HYDRA's weapon. Nevertheless, despite his dark past, he is trying to move on with his life and has even formed a relationship with Tony. All seems to be going well, until a security breach at SHIELD threatens to expose his past.
> 
> [Love Is Blind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366393) (14,512 words) - After a mission goes horribly wrong, Natasha is left completely blind. As SHIELD scientists desperately seek a cure, Natasha struggles to come to terms with her disability.
> 
> [The Adventures Of Steve Rogers, Newsboy Extraordinaire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153170) (11,161 words) - 7-year-old Steve has Selective Mutism. When Steve finds himself confronting a dangerous criminal, will he find the courage within himself to save the day - and even find his voice?
> 
> [I Like Cats, Too](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13646094) (10,526 words) - When the Avengers are torn apart by the split caused by the Sokovia Accords, a depressed Natasha lapses into a prolonged period of silence. Will anyone be able to help Natasha overcome her depression and mutism? Enter a very special cat named Midnight...
> 
> [Black Widow By Day, Black Kitten By Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854061) (6,164 words) - Natasha dons her cat ears, Clint ties up his pet, and hardcore, steamy sex ensues.
> 
> [The Black Widow Ice Cream Parlour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253527) (3,746 words) - Natasha meets one of the people whose lives she has saved, and finally gets the appreciation she deserves.
> 
> [The End Of The Line](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7088617) (3,433 words) - Bucky falls from the train to his assumed death. Steve has to come to terms with a world without him in it.
> 
> [Turkish Oil Wrestling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7013452) (2,620 words) - Steve and Bucky decide to have a wrestling match to settle an old score. Cue them stripping down to their pants, getting oiled up and engaging in a vigorous wrestling match that leaves them both hot and sweaty.
> 
> [So, You Like Cats?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7046986) (1,697 words) - Sam has a confession to make. It could make or break his and T'Challa's relationship. It all comes down to one question: Do you like cats?
> 
> [In Memoriam: James Buchanan Barnes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7924684) (120 words) - A grief-stricken Steve writes a poem in honour of his best friend.


End file.
